


Ping-Pong, and other Battleships

by clxude



Series: Ushiten Week [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Cruise Ships, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Ping-Pong, shuffle board, their in like their seventies???, wedding anniversary, when I say aged up characters I mean hella aged up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clxude/pseuds/clxude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Occasionally, when he’s cursing his age ridden bones as the sun slowly melts frost ridden windows, when he misses every chance he ever lost to stand on the national stage, he misses the Japan team he didn’t play on, and the bright streets of Tokyo that never knew his name in luminescent lights. But Wakatoshi has never been one for sentiment, and he’s never been one for clinging to the past. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ping-Pong, and other Battleships

**Author's Note:**

> If I were to describe this fic, I'd say it's somewhere between the ridiculousness of Caillou and Chill, and the emotional impact of there's a locker room somewhere. 
> 
> This is the final part of both the you were my heartbeat series, and my ushiten week works. I've really enjoyed Ushiten week, and I'm glad it was able to become so successful. 
> 
> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ushiten week day 7//future fic

**_i._ **

_ (Let’s stand along the coast; I could do for a bit of wind in my hair.) _

They’re standing, hand in hand, at the stern of the cruise ship as they watch the coastline slowly retreat. Satori’s knuckles clench around the top of the guardrails. The rocking of the ship is leaving him dizzy and lightheaded; hopefully, he will be completely adjusted by their anniversary dinner.

The ship moves underneath his feet, jerking as it encounters its’ own wake. Wakatoshi’s arms are wrapped around his waist in an instant, keeping him close and upright. Wakatoshi has always been the best at that; keeping Satori grounded, even as he soared above his enemies. This has always been the two of them, together, hand in hand from their first practice together in high school, all the way to their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Satori has never been scared, as long as Wakatoshi is beside him.

**_ii._ **

_ (The air smells like thunder, but I have long grown past my fear of lightning; there isn’t a single light that could outshine you.) _

They stand beside each other in one of the many lounges of the cruise ship. A girl is singing on the stage, rocking slightly to the quiet indie music. It’s a cover to an old American song, and Satori is humming along, his chin digging into his husband’s shoulder.

They sway slowly in the dim room, and Wakatoshi can pick out the faint scent of wine from where it clings to Satori’s graying hair. His skin feels warm underneath Wakatoshi’s fingers from where his hands slipped under Satori’s shirt.

The music pulses, growing louder before falling silent once again. In this moment, there’s nowhere he would rather be.

Occasionally, when he’s cursing his age ridden bones as the sun slowly melts frost ridden windows, when he misses every chance he ever lost to stand on the national stage, he misses the Japan team he didn’t play on, and the bright streets of Tokyo that never knew his name in luminescent lights. But Wakatoshi has never been one for sentiment, and he’s never been one for clinging to the past. He’s older now, but he has what matters.

Her voice rises once more, and Wakatoshi figures his life has turned out pretty okay.

**_iii._ **

_ (The sun burns my skin and my age shows; you look like the angel I met back in high school, and I question if a day ever went by for you.) _

Satori stares at Wakatoshi, cross-eyed, as the taller man lathers sunblock on his cheeks. He blinks slowly, and wonders when his vision first began to decline, because, without his glasses, Wakatoshi looks less like the man he loves and more like a shapeless blob. He smiles anyway when said blob kisses his nose before rubbing a bit of the cream on the skin there.

Satori does the same for Wakatoshi, being extra careful to not get any in his eyes. He stands once they finish, and as soon as they have their shoes on, they’re out the door and the hallway, and into the sunlight of the open ocean.  

The water all around them is blinding, and Satori quickly switches between his normal glasses and a pair of prescription sunglasses. The light becomes barely more manageable, but he can now make out Wakatoshi’s faint grin without his eyes feeling like they’re being burned out of his skull.

Wakatoshi’s hand finds his, and they begin their morning walk around the middle deck. There’s a breeze coming over the starboard side of the ship, and it leaves a chill in the air whenever they walk under an awning.

Wakatoshi shivers slightly the first time it happens, crinkling his eyes and leaving his wrinkles even more pronounced. Satori wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. They both smell like seawater; Satori has yet to grow accustomed to the scent. It blurs the cologne he’s grown used to over the past sixty years, intertwining in it until it’s barely recognizable.

He stops in the middle of the hallway, standing firmly in front of Wakatoshi, taking in the sight of him. The taller man’s hair has long ago gone gray. His face was covered in wrinkles with a speckling of freckles. It’s a familiar face, but the foreign scent drives him mad.

He grips Wakatoshi’s shoulders and tugs him down until they’re eye to eye. Satori places a kiss on his forehead, breathing slowly. A bit of sea salt clings to the ex-spiker’s hair, but Satori can just barely make out the scent of his shampoo.

Wakatoshi’s smile is almost there, tugging at the corner of his mouth as Satori litters more kisses down the side of his face. His normal scent is stronger at the crook of his neck; hints of shaving cream and sunscreen, along with body wash. He pulls back, still holding Wakatoshi’s hand, and they continue on their walk.

**_iv._ **

_ (Years and years have gone by, but my love has yet to run out. The way I feel about you is infinite.) _

They’re sitting in the back corner of a face restaurant, bumping knees under the table. A live band is playing jazz music, and their instruments gleam under the hazy light. They’ve lived through sixty years of Wakatoshi and Satori, Satori and Wakatoshi.

(Sixty years has never flown by so fast.)

The time seemed far too short.

**_v._ **

_ (Your eyes glint with fire and wit, and your tongue tastes like quicksilver. This is the moment my heart breaks; this is the moment I fall harder for you.) _

Around noon, the two men finally make their way to the recreation deck. They head there most afternoons to either play against other couples, each other, or to just watch the water. They play music old enough for even Wakatoshi to know the melody, and Satori often hears him humming along as they play table tennis.

Satori lifts his arm, ready to hit the ping-pong ball. He’s one point from winning the game, and Wakatoshi is behind by three sets. He could take it easier,  _ would  _ take it easily, but suddenly there is a shriek, and Satori swings wildly and misses the ball completely.

He jerks around, shocked to see man around his age with what he expects to be a similar expression. He knows the incredulous look well, and the man standing beside him.

“Oikawa, Iwaizumi. It is nice to see you.” Wakatoshi wraps his arm around Satori’s waist; the crook of his elbow rest right above the small of his back.

Oikawa scoffs. “I told you, Iwa-chan. We should have gone to the alien convention in America. Ushiwaka would never go to that.”

“Shut up, Crappykawa.” Iwaizumi bumps his hip against his partner. “I would have thought you learned how to be polite in fifty years.”

Oikawa sticks out his tongue, pinching his wrinkly old man face.  _ With age comes beauty,  _ Satori remembers his mother telling him when he was an awkward middle schooler. He wonders when the warranty ended for Oikawa, and the fangirls finally left.

Wakatoshi squeezes once at his waist, before walking back around to his side of the ping pong table. He throws the ball up in the air, and smacks it across the small net. Satori returns it before the first bounce, and they fall into an easy, noncompetitive, motion.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi head towards the far side of the rec deck, and Satori can faintly hear their voices. Wakatoshi and him continue to play, and it’s easy, just the two of them as the sun sinks lower on the ocean.

...

A few days pass by similar to that, until the cruise ship is a day away from shore. Satori and Wakatoshi  _ (it’s always Satori and Wakatoshi; Wakatoshi and Satori)  _ are playing ping pong, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa are leaning against the guard rail.

Everything is relatively quiet, with only the sounds of water hitting the hull and old music. It’s serene and wonderful, and Satori is so caught on how  _ lucky  _ they are to be together right now, Wakatoshi is winning by a mile.

It normal, their everyday routine, until suddenly, it’s not.

...

“Tooru, cut it out, come on – “

“I have to beat him at least once, Hajime!” Satori drops the ping pong ball, and looks up to see Wakatoshi shrug. “Who knows the next time we’ll see each other? They could  _ die  _ soon!”

Wakatoshi calls for the ball, and the two of them return to playing, electing to ignore the Seijoh couple.

Wakatoshi throws the ball up in the air for his serve, and it’s nothing compared to how he used to play volleyball, but it still steals his breath nonetheless. Time slows down as they play, only to rush to catch up when Oikawa’s hands rest on Satori’s shoulder.

“Come play a game with me, Ten-chan.”

Satori finds himself being dragged away from the table by the elbow. Wakatoshi is in a nearly identical position, but accompanied by a far from enthusiastic Iwaizumi. Soon they’re in front of one of the shuffleboards. Neither Wakatoshi or Satori have ever played before, and Oikawa is more than happy to not explain and laugh as they lose pitifully. Satori trips over the cue several times. Once, Wakatoshi’s disk flies over the end of the court.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa double their score, to no one’s surprise.

“I finally won, Iwa-chan! I beat Ushiwaka!”

“Shut up, Trashykawa,” retorts Iwaizumi, but he’s still smiling, at the same time an employee asks Oikawa to calm down as to not disturb the other guests.

They fade out, hand in hand, with salt in the air behind them.

**_vi._ **

_ (This is what stardust tastes like.) _

They find themselves back where they started – leaning on the guardrail of the bow of the ship, hands clasped firmly. The coast looks like smeared ink on the horizon, but the captain claims they’re only an hour from the dock.

After a few minutes, they step away from the bow and head back to their room, their joint hands swinging between then. They still need to pack after all, and the scent of  _ Wakatoshi  _ is more predominant than ocean water there, anyway.

(In those sixty years Wakatoshi has been by his side, Satori has never once left home.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Requests are welcome at my [tumblr](http://mother-iwa-chan.tumblr.com/)


End file.
